Kitabı oku: «A Way With Women», sayfa 3
She felt faint. “I’m waiting.”
His fingers tensed on her arm, almost hurting. “You never waited, Harper.”
Her temper flaring, she stepped back, then realized she was pressed against the wall. Her hands skated behind her, flattening against the plaster for support. “Save the fancy verbal moves for your bride. You’re the one who left Pine Hills.”
“But I’m back.” Macon’s eyes captured hers, holding on so fiercely she didn’t think he’d ever let go. “This might be a small town, but it’ll have to be big enough for us both. From now on, leave my mail alone, and I’ll forget about the letters and not press charges.”
She swallowed around the unexpected lump forming in her throat. “Thanks for letting me off the hook.”
“No problem.” He drew a deep breath, and she sensed he was affected by the scent of perfume he took with it. “I know you planned to leave here years ago,” he said, seemingly trying to hide how affected he was by her proximity, “but you married Bruce, and now things haven’t turned out the way you wanted, so you’re meddling in my life. You’re mad because I left here and lived my dreams, Harper. But I forgive you.”
So that’s what he thought. Pain sliced through her at his lack of understanding. She had no idea where her mama’s dreams ended and her own began. Her mother had hated Pine Hills and wanted Harper to leave. Escape, she’d called it. But Harper had liked doing her homework in the Laundromat after school, listening to the familiar rhythmic sound of the dryers while she joked with customers. She’d liked sneaking off to meet Macon, too. She knew she was smarter than average, but she’d never needed to be somebody important. Her voice caught. “Maybe there were other dreams, Macon.” Like leaving town with you. She could hear her mama’s voice. You think that rancher’s boy cares about you, girl? No, ma’am. He’s the richest boy in town. To him, you’re just some girl that’s gonna wind up working in a Laundromat like your mama. For a breathless moment, dread pushed at Harper’s chest, and she thought she’d suffocate.
“Harper?”
All the air left her lungs. “I’m sorry for what I did, Macon,” she said, knowing she had to make him leave. “Really. Please, you’d better go now.”
He become utterly still. Only his breath moved, teasing her ears as he leaned nearer. “What if I don’t want to?”
Gazing at him, she suddenly couldn’t pull her eyes from his mouth. A kiss would mean so little to him, she thought illogically, craving a taste. According to gossip, he dispensed those kisses all the time. He let them fall from his damnable lips like spring rain. Maybe if she had just a taste of him, she could finally forget him.
His voice was mesmerizing. “What if I want to stay?”
“You always did do exactly what you wanted, didn’t you, Macon McCann?”
“Then I sure as hell shouldn’t stop now,” he drawled roughly, brushing his body against hers, the taut, hard sweep of his hips coming with a rustle of denim. She hadn’t looked down, hadn’t known he was aroused, but she felt it now. He felt so hard and hot and thick that her knees nearly buckled.
“Where’s Cordy?” he said.
Hearing her son’s name brought her to her senses, but Macon had already filled the space between them. How could she fight what she felt right now? She couldn’t bear to admit it, but she’d probably lured Macon here by writing those letters. The seductive dress, upswept hair and new makeup were telling, too. A heartbeat passed, then his throaty words slurred against her hair. “Where?”
She could feel his lips brushing the strands. Her heart beat wildly. Get away, she ordered herself. Sidestep. Brush past. Push open screen door. Step outside and breathe deeply. Clear your head, Harper. It should have been so simple, but the eyes riveted to her lips were all amber fire.
“Where, Harper?”
She shouldn’t have said it, but she did. “Not here.”
Hot was the first thought that came a second later, when Macon’s mouth crushed down on hers. Burning hot. Moving with unrestrained trembling hunger, he parted her lips with the slow thrust of his tongue. Wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, he steadied her as he kicked the storm door, shutting out the summer sunlight. He threw the dead bolt, the loud click making her pulse soar, the masterful strokes of his tongue making her climb. Up through dark tunnels, she strained for the feeling, whimpering and aching as practiced, work-roughened hands deftly slid between their bodies, caressing her breasts and belly as they swiftly unbuttoned the front of her dress.
She reached down, her fisted hand opening on a hard-muscled thigh before sliding over to grasp him intimately. He was so aroused, so big, all throbbing ready heat pulsing through denim. Her dress was open, too—all the way now! Just as she squeezed him firmly, her fist closing around his length, he pushed the dress from her shoulders, making her head swim as he exposed her bra.
She couldn’t believe what this man did to her, no more than she could understand why she hadn’t felt this with Bruce. And then those thoughts were gone because Macon was admiring her with a hot gaze, looking down, his greedy eyes devouring her belly and simple white panties. He brushed his knuckles over the mound, lightly grasping her tangled hairs through the silk, then quickly, he unhooked the front clasp of the bra and pushed the cups back toward her shoulders. The way he looked at her bare, aroused breasts made her feel heartbreakingly beautiful. His whisper was hoarse, the words slurred. “I’ve missed this, Harper.”
Sucking a breath through gritted teeth, he used both hands, lifting and cupping her breasts from beneath, mercilessly kneading them, pushing them high and pressing them together, deepening the damp crevice between them as he locked his groaning, liquid mouth to one. Releasing a throaty growl that, alone, was enough to make her shatter, he ground himself against her, rolling his hips as she arched to meet him. She cried out, gasping as he bit, nibbled and soothed a painfully erect nipple with his mouth, leaving her so damp between the legs that she was shaking. Only after long, torturous moments did Macon lean back, tersely demanding, “Look at me, Harper.”
She did, and the past vanished. There was only their present connection—light and shadow playing on his face, the warmth of long-suppressed desire in his eyes and finally the blessed fusion of his searing mouth to the breast he’d already left glistening. Thrusting her fingers into his hair, she whimpered again, twisting for the rasp of his teeth. Chest heaving, she drew in the woodsy scent of him, everything inside her reaching higher, endlessly higher like a kite, as his urgent hand tugged down her panties.
“There, Harper,” he soothed, in a ragged whisper, his hand parting her knees, and then gentle thumbs pressing circles ever higher on her open thighs. When he reached the apex and stroked the pearl he’d laid bare, she was so lost she barely even heard the rake of his zipper, but she plummeted into a whirlpool of wet, blind darkness when his bulging thighs pressured hers again. She’d waited so long for this…for him. Dizzy, her knees weak, she clung to his shoulders. Lower down, she felt the hair that protected him, rough and tangled and wild, and then the raw living silk of his erection. She’d never known a man could get so hard. The dangerous thickness of the shape made her gasp, and he moaned his response, dragging his trembling lips back and forth across hers. “Harper…oh, Harper.”
Darkness was still pooling in her thoughtless mind when his first hard, swift thrust lifted her. Lights flickered and went out, but she was climbing, her head flung back, her hands curling over powerful muscles, her fingers digging into work-honed shoulders, tightening with each new furious onslaught of scalding kisses that prepared her for the fall. Against her cheek, his words were rough, torn sandpaper. “I didn’t…won’t…”
Her mind was spinning. Come inside me? An old promise. Oh, God, what am I doing?
But she wanted this, she had for years. Heaven help her, but after Bruce died it was sometimes Macon she’d imagine, his body loving hers until she didn’t feel so alone. Suddenly, she was tumbling downward, spinning, her body shaking, the pulling depth of her shuddering climax making her mind blank again as she convulsed.
And then, just like that, he was gone. A wrenching gasp was torn from him. Another as she felt the warm gush of his release as he withdrew. The loss was so abrupt, so jarring, that her heart seemed to go with him. Stunned, strangely bereft, she wondered how this could have happened.
Macon had come about those letters, and the next thing she knew…
She steadied herself, her hands flying to her bra and dress, gathering the sides. She pulled up her panties so fast they wedged in her behind, and by the time her shaking fingers were through buttoning, he was buckling his belt. Even worse, the damn man was grinning. “Are we still here, Harper?”
Didn’t he know she felt like her dress—like she’d come apart at the seams? That she was still throbbing, her heart still racing out of control? Didn’t he understand what he’d just done to her?
Judging by his grin, she guessed he did. “I don’t know how that happened,” she whispered.
His breathing heavy, he eyed her a long moment, and by degrees, his grin vanished and his jaw set. “I thought things might be different now.”
Different from what, Macon? Different from when I came to tell you I was pregnant—and found you in your truck with Lois Potts? Different from when you went to Houston without me? A lump formed in her throat. “Different?”
“I thought…maybe with Bruce gone, and Cordy almost grown. And given the fact that Cordy and I are on good terms…”
Everything inside her seized up. “Good terms?”
He stared at her. “He does work for me, you know.”
She didn’t. Her heart missed a beat. “At the ranch?”
Macon frowned, his hand resting on the belt he’d just buckled. “He didn’t tell you I hired him to work Saturdays?”
No! She thought he came home dirty on Saturdays because of summer football practice. Why had Cordy gone behind her back? He had a generous allowance, a car, and he’d promised to concentrate on his studies this summer. The shock, on top of what had just happened between her and Macon, was too much. Realizing she’d buttoned her dress crookedly, she tugged it down, trying to smooth it, but Macon had wrinkled it beyond repair.
He was already opening the storm door, glancing through the screen as if he wanted to be anywhere in the world but in a dark hallway with her. “I guess you figure I’ll destroy your son the way I would any woman I marry,” Macon said, not bothering to hide his temper. “But don’t worry, Harper, I’ll tell Cordy that the Rock ’n’ Roll won’t be needing him anymore.” Macon shrugged. “Guess you don’t know everything about your son.”
She wished something, anything, would stop the too-fast beating of her heart. “You don’t, either, Macon,” she whispered miserably.
Lifting his hat from the newel post, Macon put it on and adjusted the brim. “Good to see you, Harper.”
Given what had just happened between them, the words seemed the worst kind of understatement. Her lips felt swollen. Tendrils of hair were glued to her neck with perspiration. She crossed her arms over the cockeyed dress, feeling ridiculous. “That’s all you’re going to say about what we just did?”
Macon shot her a level glance. “What do you want, Harper? A blow-by-blow analysis? A report?”
“No,” she said, coloring, “but—”
“If I think of anything to say, I’ll send you a postcard,” he assured dryly. “Somehow, I’ll bet you’re one of the people around this town who still gets her own mail.” Turning, Macon pushed through the screen, casually walking across the porch and into the sunshine. When he was halfway across the yard, he lifted the hat, waving it once as a parting taunt sounded over his shoulder. “I mean it. Real good to see you, Harper.”
She glared at his back, her eyes narrowing. Mustering her gamest tone, she offered her own sugary Texas drawl. “So glad to oblige, Macon.”
A throaty chuckle floated back.
Pressing her fingertips to the wire mesh, she stared at him through the screen, shaking her head. She’d repay him for this. She didn’t know how yet, but she’d think of something. And when Cordy got home, they were going to have a serious talk about his working on the ranch. For now, she simply watched Macon. Just as when he arrived, he was circling the lilac, forsythia and snowball bushes, then he got into his truck and slammed the door.
Torn apart by mixed emotions, she whispered, “It’s like watching a rewinding movie.” Except a lot had happened between the past and the present, and during Macon’s short but rather eventful visit. As he’d ambled through her yard, his open shirttails had blown in the breeze as if to announce to the neighborhood that he’d recently had little use for clothes. And as he backed his truck from under the willow, he had the nerve to toot his horn as if to say he’d definitely be back for some more of the same.
Staring at the last glimpse of his red truck winking through the trees, Harper softly, solemnly vowed, “Never again, Macon McCann. I mean it this time. Never again.”
3
HARPER HAD LED HIM ON and rejected him for the last time, Macon vowed as he galloped toward the ranch office. She should have been hog-tied for meeting him at the door wearing that sinful sundress dotted with dusky bluebonnets the color of her eyes, the heavy, milk-satin breasts Macon remembered all too well straining the straps. Glancing at the new fence as he flew past, Macon added, “Guess it’ll hold.”
Harper’s dress sure hadn’t. He barely noticed the nearly full moon, or the orange and purple clouds bracketing a bloodred sun that was taking a final peek as it dipped behind rolling green hills. He was still seeing shadows slanting on her skin and thrusting his fingers into pale hair he’d left disheveled around her shoulders. He was still considering that deceptive blond-haired, blue-eyed, little-girl-next-door facade that always fooled him until he looked closer and noticed broody eyes that were too aware and a mouth that was too sassy because of her repressed need for kissing.
At least Macon had kept his cool when he left, but now he couldn’t believe his lack of willpower. How could he stop himself when her body tucked so perfectly into his, though? When the soft smoothness of her skin glided under his mouth like water? And when her incoherent whimpers cooed around his ears, begging him to burrow into wanting heat? Cursing soundly, Macon fought memories of the burning relief he’d felt as he entered her….
But she didn’t trust him.
If she’d wanted a relationship, she’d never have written those women or looked so distressed when she realized he employed Cordy to do odd jobs. She wouldn’t have berated Macon for dating—something he’d only done to save face with her!—or implied he was some kind of latter-day Don Juan, which he wasn’t. Truth was, Harper wanted sex. He was the one who’d always wanted more. Love. Companionship. Marriage. Babies.
But not now.
Never with her. Judging from her readiness, she’d been just as long without good loving as Macon, perhaps since Bruce’s passing. Macon realized that, with Bruce gone, he could admit how envious he’d felt, looking at that farmhouse. Everything hurt—from Cordy’s sandbox to the petunia boxes to the leather-bound books so neatly arranged in cases in the living room. The construction company Macon had started in Houston ran itself now, but so far, it was all there was to the Macon McCann legacy.
Macon wanted a family house, though, on the west meadow of the Rock ’n’ Roll. He wanted cute kids, who’d ask the same things he used to ask Cam. Do cows bite? Why can’t I eat grass, if cows can? If a cow pie’s not really a pie like an apple pie, then why do we call it a pie? If Macon didn’t act soon, he’d be the last of the McCann line. Cam’s ribbing aside, he knew his folks were anxious for him to settle down.
Which meant he had to let go of Harper for good.
Dismounting at the office, Macon set the gelding loose, then went inside, seated himself at the desk and shuffled through the women’s letters. No pictures were attached. No doubt, if there were any, Harper had thrown them away, not that it mattered. A woman’s looks weren’t important, just her personality. That was exactly where Harper was lacking.
As he carefully read the letters from the respondents to his ad, he found what Harper said he would—stories of war, tragically ended love affairs and separated families, some written in languages Macon didn’t recognize, others badly worded by translators. Frustrated, he chewed his lip, asking Harper’s question. How could he get to know a woman who didn’t speak English? He’d picked up enough Spanish to get by in Tijuana, but that was about it.
“You’ve got to find somebody,” Macon muttered. “For Cam’s sake,” he added, his resolve strengthening as his traitorous mind recalled Harper’s thighs opening like rippling water, then remembered the swing on the wraparound porch from which she and Bruce must have watched the world go by. His chest constricted. She’d had companionship for years, and now she had a growing, active boy, and memories of a husband to keep her warm at night.
What did he have?
Nothing. Only the hope that marrying another woman would get the silken feel of Harper off his hands. He mulled over the women in town again. Lois Potts and Nancy Ludell were divorced and looking, and then there was Betsy, the schoolteacher from Idaho. None seemed right, so he picked out the only five letters written in good English. They were from a seventeen-year-old girl named Chantal Morris, a thirty-year-old hairdresser who worked on movie sets in L.A. and who’d never visited a ranch but wanted “to do City Slickers meets Baby Boom.” Macon wasn’t up on movie lingo, but he rented videos, so he supposed that meant the woman wanted him to get her pregnant on a ranch, which, at the moment, was fine by him. Between the lines, he could tell Anna Gonzales wanted citizenship. A New York divorcee named Judith Stone complained she was bored since her kids had left the nest. She also worked in a battered women’s shelter and politely informed Macon that she wouldn’t give out her age until they were married for years. Finally “a simple, earthy, country gal” named Carrie Dawn Bledscoe wrote from West Virginia, saying she was desperate to get hitched to a cowboy.
The command of English aside, something in each letter touched Macon, either with pity or laughter, and he genuinely wanted to help. Scrounging in a drawer until he found a pen and paper, he began to write.
Dear Chantal,
Sounds like you’re in a bind over there in Missouri, so I’m sending you a ticket to Pine Hills, Texas. Because I got so many responses to my ad in Texas Men, I’m inviting five finalists to the ranch. I figure this will take some pressure off us all while we’re getting acquainted. There’s plenty of room at the ranch house—you girls can bunk down together—and I’ll be planning a week of fun-filled activities to introduce you to my family and ranch life. Rest assured, we’ll all have a great time, regardless of the outcome. However, as I said in my ad, I’m very seriously marriage-minded. So, by the end of the week, I’ll have arranged for a reverend….
“YOU’RE WHAT?” Cordy Moody was pacing around the ranch office like a caged animal, and when he angrily tugged off a straw hat, shaggy ash hair fell into smoky blue eyes that Macon suddenly wished weren’t quite so much like his mama’s. They blazed at Macon. “You’re firing me?”
“That’s not exactly how I’d put it, Cordy—”
“You can’t!”
Macon winced, hating what he was doing. Personally, he thought Cordy needed this job. He was finding men to look up to, and he’d filled out physically. Macon guessed his good looks and athletic build were bringing him his share of the girls already. Hard to believe Macon had been that young when he’d met Cordy’s mother. “Sorry,” he forced himself to say, knowing he’d miss seeing the boy with whom he felt he’d forged a relationship, “but I don’t have a choice. I talked to your mama last night, Cordy.”
Talk hardly covered what had transpired, and in the short pause when Macon took a deep breath to process that, Cordy interjected, “I don’t believe this!”
Macon didn’t, either. This morning, still ruled by his temper, he’d driven to the Opossum Creek post office where, without incident, he figured he could express mail the letters he’d written last night. As soon as he reached the ranch, he’d called in Cordy, not about to let Harper think he’d continue employing her son against her wishes.
Cordy grunted, the angular face that kept Harper from being model pretty giving him a harder, masculine edge, despite his age. “Let me guess,” he growled. “She’s mad because I didn’t tell her I was working. Well, why would I? She would have said no.”
Macon frowned. “I thought you two got along.”
Cordy shrugged. “I guess, but she won’t let me get a job. She’s overprotective, even though my grades are good. They were all As this year, except for history.”
Maybe that’s why Harper didn’t want him to work these few hours a week. History had been a hobby of Bruce’s. Every summer when he was alive, Bruce had organized the annual civil war battle reenactments at the county fair in Opossum Creek. “You failed history?”
Cordy glared at Macon. “I got a B. Why doesn’t anybody trust me? My mom needs to get a life. She hasn’t gone on a date—” the tough, adolescent posturing dropped “—since Dad died.”
Hardly wanting to hear about Harper’s dating practices, Macon shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, lifted his boots and crossed them on the desk. “Well, Cordy, I’m sure your mother’ll—” the words stuck in his throat, his mind filling with the many shattering things Harper could do “—date eventually.”
Cordy didn’t look convinced. “No, she won’t. She’s too busy recording my every move. She’s suffocating me.”
Macon could imagine. She sure as hell hadn’t thought twice about opening and answering Macon’s mail. “Mothers are like that, Cordy. But she loves you.”
“Too much.” Cordy flung himself into a chair, his face darkening. “And now you’re on her side,” he accused. “She told you to fire me, didn’t she? She probably paid you to fire me. She doesn’t want me mad at her, so she’s making you do her dirty work.”
“I’m not firing you, Cordy.” Feeling strangely roped in, Macon added against his better judgment, “Maybe I can talk to her.” He’d meant to avoid Harper, at least until his female guests arrived, but Cordy wanted to work, and it wasn’t his fault he’d come to the Rock ’n’ Roll. How was he to know Macon and Harper had a history? One as recent as yesterday, Macon thought, wincing. Still, working was good for a boy who lacked male influence. “Maybe she’ll let you work somewhere else. Maybe down at Happy Licks, or the bowling alley over in Opossum Creek.”
“I work here!”
Cordy was usually such a reasonable kid. “It’s just a ranch,” Macon reminded him, unable to fathom why he was taking this so hard.
“No, it’s not.”
Caught between a rock and a hard place, Macon chewed his lip. Regardless of Macon’s personal feelings, Harper was the boy’s mother. On the other hand, he didn’t want Cordy thinking he wasn’t valued. Choosing his words carefully, Macon continued, “Your mother and I go back a ways.” All the way back to fourteen hours ago. “And she’s…well, she’s not real comfortable with you and I having a relationship. We went to high school together, and I think she’s—” Macon searched his mind “—worried about my reputation around town.”
Cordy gaped disbelievingly. “She doesn’t want me here because you’ve got all those girlfriends? What’s wrong with a guy having a few girlfriends?”
“Maybe she believes more goes on than really does,” Macon said diplomatically, fighting awareness of what had gone on. “She just doesn’t feel this is the best environment….”
“Environment?” Cordy looked stupefied. “I’m harnessing cattle so Diego can give them shots! Last week I mucked stalls. Even when you weren’t around, I worked over here, you can ask Cam. I’ve been doing this for two years, Macon.”
“And lying to your mother about where you go on Saturdays.” When Cordy flushed guiltily, Macon said, “Look, her not wanting you here is due to issues that…I can’t go into.” Now, there was an understatement. “But it’s got nothing to do with you.”
Cordy glared at him. “You are so wrong. I know why she’s mad. It’s because Bruce wasn’t my dad.”
Macon squinted, anger curling through him. “What nonsense has someone put into your head?”
“That someone was my dad. He said he’s not my dad. I mean, he’s my dad because he raised me and all, and even though he died, he always will be. But it was another man who got her…”
“Pregnant?” Macon couldn’t believe this. “Who?”
Cordy rolled his eyes as if unable to believe Macon’s stupidity. “You.”
“SLOW DOWN, MACON!” Clutching his hat and the dashboard, Cordy said, “If you think Mom’s mad about me working for you, how do you think she’ll feel if you wreck and get me killed?”
He was barreling down a five-mile gauntlet of furrowed flatlands planted with cabbage that lay between the McCann ranch and the Moodys’ and, realizing the boy was right, Macon pulled off the road and put the truck into Park, deciding he’d better just sit a minute. He’d already heard everything Cordy had to say, how the boy had become suspicious over the years because of overheard whisperings between Harper and Bruce and because of how nervous his folks acted when Macon came into town. Now everything inside Macon was shaking, and his hands felt as if they were trembling even though they looked perfectly steady on the steering wheel.
Peering at him and looking uncomfortable, Cordy lifted off his straw hat, rested it on his knee and toyed with the brim. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you, Macon.”
“Yes, you should have.” His heart aching, Macon looked abruptly through the windshield, staring blindly into a blazing morning sun that promised another scorcher. He and Harper had a child? Cordy was his? Why didn’t you tell me, Harper? How could you deny me a life with my own son? Knowing Cordy was watching him, Macon pretended to swallow his anger. Cordy was already confused enough, and Macon would do anything he could to make things work out all right. No wonder Harper hadn’t wanted him around Cordy. She’d feared something—a gesture or word—would alert Macon to the truth.
Still looking anxious, Cordy traced a thumb back and forth over the hat brim, his nail grating against the straw. After a moment, he stopped and fiddled with the heater vent. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell her we know, Macon.”
Macon turned to Cordy, his eyes roving over the boy, his throat constricting. Not confront her? His voice came out coarse, roughened by emotion. “You’re sure about this?” God help the boy if he’d concocted this story for some mysterious reason only another teenager might understand.
Cordy glanced away, and Macon pretended not to notice he was fighting tears, since Cordy didn’t like sharing his emotions any more than Macon had at that age. When he turned to Macon again, his chin had quit quivering. Macon couldn’t help but study the boy’s face, although he was still unable to see anything of himself in Cordy; he was so much Harper’s boy, with ash hair and blue eyes.
“I’m not lying, Macon,” Cordy continued, slicking his palms worriedly down the legs of his work-soiled jeans. “Dad said Mom would never tell me, and Gramps and Gran Moody died not knowing, so he figured I had a right to know before he died.” Cordy’s voice shook, and once more Macon graciously pretended not to notice. “I guess…I guess you’ve got a right to know now, too, Macon.”
At least Bruce Moody had instilled some wholesome, honest values in Cordy. Macon’s heart thudded dully. His voice was almost a whisper. “I can’t believe you’ve known this for two years. Since your dad…” As he said the word, the truth hit home again. He was Cordy’s dad, also. “Since he died?”
Cordy nodded. “The only person I told was Garrick, since he’s my best friend. I would have told you before, but you were in Houston. And then, a couple of weeks ago, I stopped in to see Mom in the post office, and Betsy—you know, the new art teacher you went out with?—well, she told Mom you’d come back to work the Rock ’n’ Roll. That’s when I realized you’d be staying this time.” Cordy squinted, his eyes—so like Harper’s—knitting with concern, looking wiser than their years, the eyes of a boy who’d lost a father. “And then last Saturday,” Cordy continued, “Diego told me Cam won’t let you run the ranch until you get married. Is that true, Macon?”
So, the Pine Hills gossip machine was still well-oiled, Macon thought. Just wait until everybody gets hold of this latest news. And they would get hold of it. Macon wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he was sure of one thing. He intended for Cordy to inherit the Rock ’n’ Roll. If he’s really my son. His heart stretched, almost hurting as his eyes drifted over Cordy. “Yeah,” he managed to say, “it’s true. Cam wants me to get married.”
Cordy took a deep breath. “Well, when I found out you were back for good, I figured I’d tell you, but…”
He hadn’t known how. Suddenly, Macon realized the boy—his son—had been hanging around the Rock ’n’ Roll for two years, hoping to run into him and tell him the truth. In two years, he hadn’t, though. That hurt more than anything else. Didn’t Cordy know he could tell Macon anything? Barely able to find his voice, Macon said, “You did the right thing.”
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